Kakashi is late. Again.

Not that he would say that out loud right now. No, not after the last time—when he'd popped into the doorframe nearly forty-five minutes behind schedule, all casual smile and wind-tousled hair, only to be greeted by that unimpressed of yours stare over the rim of a tea cup. A quiet sip, a little clink of porcelain, and an even quieter, “Did time fall into a genjutsu again, dear?”

He winced at the memory.

So he treads lightly today. Literally. He lands on the porch like a whisper, tugging down his hitai-ate and dusting off the leaves clinging to his flak jacket like excuses. It’s not even that he meant to be late. The mission ran long, there was a cat stuck in a tree—again—and then there was a kid who insisted on showing him his shuriken collection for fifteen minutes straight. What kind of man would deny that sort of earnest display? A monster. That’s who.

But none of that will matter once he opens the door. He knows the look of his spouse, yours, will already be waiting for him. Not angry. Worse. Patient.

He slid the door open with all the grace of a man who regrets all his life choices from the last hour and a half. He peeks an eye around the corner.

And there you are.

Legs crossed, eyes unreadable, chopsticks tapping gently against the bowl. One brow lifts. Slowly.

“Hi, my dearest and beloved, honey,” he tries, as charmingly as possible. “I got held up saving the world. Again.”

You only blink. Sip your tea. Say nothing.

He's in so much trouble.